


The Guilt Trials *On Hiatus w/ Intent for Major Revision*

by Hallie_Blue



Series: The Guilt Trials and Other Related Works [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Galia (Gally/Malia), Gen, Memory Loss, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, PTSD Stiles, PTSD Thomas (Maze Runner), Page 250, Platonic bed sharing, Stiles Has Nightmares, Stiles Stilinski is Thomas (Maze Runner), Stiles and Minho Aren't As Okay as They Pretend to Be, Stiles and Minho pretend they don't miss Newt, You Have Been Warned, back from the dead, canon divergence after season 4, mostly canon compliant, people change, two identities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-03-08 18:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3218324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallie_Blue/pseuds/Hallie_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sitting up in bed, running a hand across his face, he realizes that he couldn’t share these thoughts with the Pack. He couldn’t share them with his dad. With Argent. With Derek, or Deaton or even Creepy Uncle Peter. </p><p> </p><p>(Mentions and a quote from Page 250 of The Death Cure).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Worse than the Nogitsune

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHORS NOTE: this is a TEEN WOLF/Maze Runner Crossover AU so if not everything is canon-compatible, I’m sorry, but I had to make everything work within the confines of a Stiles-Is-Thomas Universe. You can either accept the fact this is an alternate reality fic and keep reading, not accept this is an alternate reality fic and stop reading, or not accept that it’s an alternate reality fic but keep reading and be a total shuck-face about it...I really don’t care.
> 
>  
> 
> I apologize in advance for the direct qote of page 250. (If you read The Death Cure you know what I mean).
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry.
> 
>  
> 
> -Hallie_Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sitting up in bed, running a hand across his face, he realizes that he couldn’t share these thoughts with the Pack. He couldn’t share them with his dad. With Argent. With Derek, or Deaton or even Creepy Uncle Peter. He wanted to call Minho, to call Gally, to call… He shakes his head, shakes the name away that drifted in to complete the thought… To call someone who knew what he’d been through.

 

**PART ONE**

 

 

 

 

> _Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death.~Coco Chanel_

Stiles wakes up from another dream of the Unspeakable Thing from the Trials, he turns and looks at the digital clock on his bedside table.

1:05 am

Sitting up in bed, running a hand across his face, he realizes that he couldn’t share these thoughts with the Pack. He couldn’t share them with his dad. With Argent. With Derek, or Deaton or even Creepy Uncle Peter. He wanted to call Minho, to call Gally, to call… He shakes his head, shakes the name away that drifted in to complete the thought… To call someone who knew what he’d been through.

Minho? Gally (really, how desperate he is)? They wouldn’t understand what he was going through, even though they thought they did. They didn’t know about the Unspeakable Thing. They couldn’t know about the Unspeakable Thing. If they ever found out about what happened, they’d never...and then he’d…  

He gets up and starts pacing his room.

They’d never what and then he’d what?  They’d never forgive him? He’d be completely lost?

He didn’t deserve to be forgiven.

He was already lost.

Not for the first time since learning that the Maze, the Scorch, the Flare, _every-shucking-thing_ that happened in the Trials had been a complete lie created to bend Stiles and the others to their will, Stiles found himself desperate for contact with something, anything, to distract him from his guilt-riddled mind.

For the first time ever Stiles wished something supernatural would try to take over in Beacon Hills to take his mind off the things no one knows he remembered.

Because how do you tell someone about those types of things? The memories...The ghosts...How do you share those with people?

How do you explain people _dying_?

How do you explain _killing_ people?

How do you explain _killing_ your _best friend_?

How do you explain that you helped destroy so many lives because you were a gullible Klunk-for-Brains?

They all had been slintheads in the beginning…thinking any of them could get out of the Glade (and the Maze, and the Scorch, and the Trials) someday and not have scars on every fraction of their soul, Stiles thinks as he flings himself backwards onto his mattress and against his better judgement he closes his eyes even though the nightmares from the Nogitsune had nothing on the ones he has now. Even still he let’s them...no It...come. He hasn’t had any other dream...any other Nightmare...in a very long time. Not that anyone else knows he’s having any nightmares because that would mean telling everyone he’s not okay, and he’s worked very hard to convince people that he’s fine.

So Stiles lets himself close his eyes, and if sleep finds him and the nightmare comes it comes.

_“Kill me.  If you’ve ever been my friend, kill me.”  And then Newt’s eyes cleared, as if he’d gain one last trembling grasp of sanity, and his voice softened. “Please, Tommy. Please.”_

__

_With his heart falling into a black abyss, Thomas pulled the trigger....again._

__

Stiles wakes again with a start at the sound of a gunshot in his mind, just as he had earlier that night. Once again, Stiles looks at the clock and he cringes.

1:09 am.

Shuck this Klunk, Stiles thinks getting out of bed, I might as well do something productive. He gets up and grabs his cell-phone…with only one Variable...who to call at one-and-a-bit in the morning.

Scott. Minho. Scott. Minho.

Scott would worry, he wouldn’t get that Stiles didn’t want to be coddled.

On the other hand, Minho would think he did understand and wouldn’t get why Stiles didn’t think so.

  
Ultimately he calls Minho because Stiles thinks he can handle Minho thinking he understands better than Scott knowing he doesn’t. Together, Stiles and Minho open a bottle of Gally's Special Blend and watch the Star Wars trilogy (the first one). He still can't believe Scott hasn't seen it, and for some reason he tells this to Minho. 

 

"Are you shucking serious?" Minho asks, "I don't believe that there's actually a slinthead out there who hasn't seen Star Wars." 

 

"I can't believe it either." And they laugh about it for a good five minutes. 

 

What does it matter if neither of them can meet the other's eyes as they do? What does it matter that they're laughter is just the tiniest bit forced? What does it matter if neither calls the other out on the fact that they're both waiting for the heavily accented voice of the third member of their former trio? They're watching Star Wars at 1:43 in the morning. They're laughing and having fun and for that one, brief, moment, they're okay. 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter One: Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hale house was very much like they were: broken and hollow and full of big gaping holes, nothing really remained of the life and the family that it had once known but painful memories. It was nothing a little TLC couldn’t handle. 
> 
>  
> 
> or 
> 
> The one where the Remaining Gladers try to start over and Thomas remembers who he was before WICKED stole his identity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTE: As this story is NOT being told in chronological order (I am very bad at writing things chronologically...it never turns out as well as when I just write it in the order it comes to me.) Part Two takes place BEFORE Part One and if that is confusing to anyone I am deeply sorry. 
> 
> -Hallie_Blue

**Chapter One: Clarity**

 

> _“Old friends pass away, new friends appear. It is just like the days. An old day passes, a new day arrives. The important thing is to make it meaningful: a meaningful friend - or a meaningful day.” ~Dalai Lama_

It was only about a week after they had finally escaped WICKED and their lies and their false realities and the Trials and the Gladers had begun to re-assimilate back into the real world. The Gladers decided they weren’t in any rush to go their separate ways after having lost so many of their mutual friends. Even Gally’d agreed that the Gladers should stick together (it was what he’d wanted from the start, after all, for the Gladers to stay the Gladers). Gally was able to find them a house in California, a bit of a fixer-upper, but it beat the shuck out of the Homestead in the Glade or any inch of Paradise . Where he’d gotten the money, well, the others didn’t care to ask for the finer details but the general understanding was that it had been liberated during the take down of WICKED.

Which meant that some part of WICKED was at long last doing them some good and Thomas said exactly that when they’d first discussed where the money’d come from in their room at the Motel Grand Capri. Minho ended up falling off the end of one of the beds for laughing and Frypan and Gally looked as though they couldn’t decide between laughing along as well or telling the other two off for laughing about the Hell they’d literally escaped a week before. They’d eventually settled on vaguely amused expressions as they watched their fellow Gladers either bury their face into their arms at the desk while sniggering like a hyena (Thomas) or literally rolling on the floor laughing his shuck ass off (Minho).

* * *

The house in California that Gally had picked out was in a small town called Beacon Hills, it was out of the main drag of the town, and was more than just a bit of a fixer-upper. If they were being completely honest with themselves it looked alot like someone had lit a Griever on fire and set it loose on the house. Of course, he probably would never tell that to Gally unless he wanted to damage the very tentative truce between the pair of them. Besides, the house would be a good project for them to work on...a good distraction  

It didn’t matter why the house looked the way it did, or how many lives had ended inside of it, or the fact that the Hale family had been victims of a horrible massacre, the Gladers all decided after Gally’d managed to DIY the kitchen repairs to a point where it actually functioned (they didn’t really care if it looked good so long as it worked). It wasn’t out of disrespect of the tragedy of the Hale family (the Gladers had a very strong respect for other’s tragedies). Its just that the tragedy didn’t make them like the house any less. If anything it made them respect it more. The Hale house was very much like they were: broken and hollow and full of big gaping holes, nothing really remained of the life and the family that it had once known but painful memories. It was nothing a little TLC couldn’t handle.

“You need to stop reading so much, shank,” Minho sighs teasingly, “It’s making you all philosophical and klunk.”

Thomas shakes his head fondly as he puts some potting soil into the cart. The Gladers had decided after the first trip to the hardware store (Gally had been gone far longer than expected and they were far from proud to admit that they’d all nearly had a minor heart attack waiting for his return) they all had to go or no one did and no one was allowed to wander off by themselves for no reason other than everyone knowing everyone else was in the same building.

Thomas didn’t bother telling his friend that he’d been reading instead of going to bed not before it. He was a little busy dealing with the sudden onset of a massive headache instead. Suddenly his mind is flooding: images of things he doesn’t remember, of a wall of maps, of photographs, and written notes and red string.

“Thomas? Okay there shuck-face?” It takes until his brain registers that Minho’s kneeling in front of him to realize that he’s fallen to his knees, clutching his head.

“Just a headache.” Thomas mutters in response, but Minho’s face says he doesn’t believe Thomas any farther than he can throw him. Thomas doesn’t blame him, if he were Minho he wouldn’t believe himself either.

* * *

If one good thing came out of the Trials WICKED had put them through, it was that it had taught the boys to be self sufficient. Gally had pulled permits to change the floorplan of the old Hale House and he was actually able to build something that looked like a real professionally built home (having real construction supplies at his disposal helped alot).

Frypan had broke in his kitchen with a few massive feasts that could have fed all the Gladers back when they were in the Maze Trial days and he’d read a good several cookbooks to expand his repertoire of recipes much to the pleasure of the others, who, while they loved Fry’s cooking, they were also relieved to get a bit more variety than they’d had when WICKED was in control of their food supply.

Minho and Thomas had taken it upon themselves to start some yardwork. They were used to being outside, used to being in motion, used to structure, routine, and purpose.

They’d started a garden.

Actually they’d started two: one for fruits and vegetables and herbs, the other was more of a memorial to all of those who’d died in the Trials.

“You think he’d like this?” asks Minho. They’re building a trellis for some vine plants like they’d used in the Glade.

“Who? Newt?” Thomas hates the way his voice caught whenever the blonde came up in conversation.

“No, shuck-face, Gally,” Minho rolls his eyes, but there is none of the usual energy to his words, “Yes, Newt, you dumb shank.”

Thomas sighs, but he looks at the trellis almost fondly...it was just like the ones Newt’d used back in the Glade.

“I…” Thomas goes to answer, but the pain of remembering Newt’s last moments is overwhelming as it mixed itself in with the pain rapidly in his head.

He vaguely hears a voice shakily say “I think he’d love the klunk out of it.”

He’s not really sure if it’s him or someone else who said it though, because the images are flooding his mind again...this time its even stronger than before. Flashes of a life. A baby-blue jeep. A group of people. A man in a uniform, some dude in a leather jacket, a woman with curly brown hair, a guy with a crooked jaw, a red haired girl, several girls with brown hair, a blonde girl, a dark skinned boy and a boy with curly hair and a scarf, a blond athletic boy with an arrogant smirk, another who looked at him like a mentor...He remembers some of them leaving the country, others dying, others he remembers telling him they’d see him tomorrow only, they didn’t, because “tomorrow” had been when the Trials began. He remembers they don’t call him Thomas...they call him Stiles. He remembers he played Lacrosse in high school. He remembers winning the final match his sophomore year of high school. He remembers his mother, he remembers the Dead Pool. He remembers the Pack. He remembers being possessed by the Nogitsune.

* * *

He wakes up confused in a stark white room, mostly because he didn’t know where he was or when he’d fallen asleep. WICKED did this. It’s the first thought that crosses his mind, but the sight of exactly who was leaning over him was enough, for that moment, to erased that fear.

“Melissa?” She turned to him so fast he’s amazed her neck didn’t snap.

“Stiles.” She says it like a massive weight has been taken off her shoulders just by saying his name, “You have some serious explaining to do Mister.”

Thomas sat up, ripping the heart monitors and I.V. drip off of his body.

“Minho. Is he, are the others?” Melissa looked at him, softly, if not slightly annoyed by his panicked rush to get anywhere else. “They ran for it when they realized I knew you from...well, from what they called ‘before the Trials’. They also called you Thomas. Oh...and your father’s just outside, so don’t think you’re running off again.”

His father must have been listening at the door because he takes that as his cue to enter. To throw his arms around him and pull him into a hug. Thomas shrugged him off. Not because he was angry, but because he didn’t trust anyone but Minho and Frypan (and Gally on a good day) as far as he could throw them. He didn’t blame the man before him.

“I didn’t.” Thomas said, “I didn’t run off. I was taken by some group, they called themselves WICKED: or World In Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department. We, more than sixty of us,” here his dad and Melissa exchanged terrified glances, “we were convinced we were humanity’s only hope for survival...and that if we didn’t let them run the Trials we would be as good as killing off all humanity.”

“More than sixty?” The Sheriff doesn’t sound like he doubts it, more like he’s terrified by the thought, “Melissa said there was only three other’s with you.”

By some miracle Thomas manages not to cry when he thinks of how only the four of them made it long enough to see the other side of WICKED’s Trials. Which is amazing, considering it hits home now, as he is sitting with his dad that Chuck, Alby, Ben, Zart, Jeff, Winston, Theresa, but most of all, Newt would never see the outside world again. They would never know they died for some sick lie. Newt, he realized with sudden and unbridled clarity, had never had the flare...it’d never even been a possibility.  

Chuck had never gotten to see his parents again because someone was bored.

Thomas wanted to throw-up.

 


	3. Chapter Two: To Put a Bandaid on a Griever Sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not Scott McCall’s fault, Thomas tries to tell himself, as he flees back to New Homestead in Roscoe (Gally was insistent on the Gladers living in a place called Homestead, Thomas didn’t question it...it was a nostalgic sentiment even he could understand). Even still, he’s angry and bitter and, logically speaking, he understands Scott doesn’t know he’s struck a nerve by calling him that old nickname, but he has.

**Chapter Two: To Put a Bandaid on a Griever Sting**

> _“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” -Maya Angelou_

It all starts when Thomas refuses to be called Stiles. He hasn’t been Stiles in three years, and he’s not going to go back to being Stiles now...not when being Thomas is all he knows how to be anymore.

It’s not Scott McCall’s fault, Thomas tries to tell himself, as he flees back to New Homestead in Roscoe (Gally was insistent on the Gladers living in a place called Homestead, Thomas didn’t question it...it was a nostalgic sentiment even he could understand).  Even still, he’s angry and bitter and, logically speaking, he understands Scott doesn’t know he’s struck a nerve by calling him that old nickname, but he has.

Logically Thomas knew it was only because Melissa had told her son not to call Thomas “Stiles”. He just didn’t imagine the Alpha werewolf would call him that instead.  Logically he knows that Scott, still back in the Sheriff’s house, was completely confused as to why his long-lost best friend had freaked out over a simple nickname. Logically, he knew he shouldn’t have taken it as though Scott had drudged up all that trauma on purpose, because Scott didn’t know what was going through the mind of the person he’d known all his life as Stiles when he’d said it.  

Logically, Thomas also knows that he should probably pull of the shuck road because, not only was his vision blurred with tears, but he hadn’t driven at all in the last three years and up until recently he didn’t know he knew how to.

Still, he doesn’t stop until he gets to New Homestead (he may or may not have broken several traffic laws in the process, he doesn’t really know) and was collapsed, bawling his eyes out, on a the couch (and Minho’s lap) as Frypan made them all homemade hot chocolate and Gally tried to translate his strangled cries and whimpers into something that resembled an actual sentence using the English language.

“Slim it, shank, can’t understand a word leaving you’re shuck-mouth.” Gally says.

Minho glares half-heartedly at the former Keeper of the Builders, he understands Gally’s trying to help, but also knows that it’s not working, “You slim it, shuck-face, you’re doing it wrong.”

“Well I don’t see you helping calm him down!”

“Yelling won’t help anything.” This comes from Frypan, carrying four repurposed jam jars of hot chocolate, handing one to Thomas first and then the others, “Here.”

Thomas sits up then, clutching the hot chocolate in both hands and staring into the midnight black liquid as if it holds all the answers he was looking for, his sobs and whimpers turning to little sad sounding hiccups. Then the hiccups subside too, leaving only silence and the tracks of where his tears have run down his face.

“Want to talk about it, shank?”

Thomas wants to say ‘No’. He wants so desperately to make the tears stop and the memories fade....he wants to go back to being Stiles. He wants to go back to a time before the Trials, to a time before he was Thomas, because the nickname wouldn’t bother him then, because it wouldn’t have any meaning, he wouldn’t have to worry about someone using it who wasn’t the one person did.  

Thomas wants to say, ‘not with you, slintheads’, he was going to say it, but when he opened his mouth he doesn’t, and what he does say comes out in a barely audible whisper, “He called me Tommy.”

The other Gladers don’t say anything after that. They just sit around their brand-new  TV and watch the Star Wars marathon playing on the SyFy channel. Thomas remembers it well from his life as Stiles and Gally and Minho pelt him with pillows and popcorn every time he spoils something for them. Frypan shakes his head every time and goes to make more popcorn when they end up with more in Thomas’ hair than in their stomachs by the end of the first one which was called the Fourth (a concept that makes about as much sense to the Gladers as Glader Slang did to a Greenie). By the time the marathon is over they’ve put the pain of remembering behind them.

Yet, nagging painfully in the back of their mind, was the knowledge...or perhaps it was just a sense of logical understanding, that this was just a band-aid on a Griever sting. Temporary. Superficial. It wasn’t a solution but a distraction and they knew it. They accepted that as reality for the moment; that their temporary happiness would soon enough give-way to the loss, and the mourning.

Thomas gets to his feet and stumbles, numb-legged, to the window looking out on the gardens, and he sees the young start-up vines growing on the low-parts Newt’s trellis (There was a part of the yard dedicated to each of their fallen friends and the trellis had been unanimously designated as Newt’s). “He called me Tommy,” he mutters under his breath, and the way he says it tells the other Gladers it’s not them he’s talking to, “Only Newt calls me Tommy.”

 


	4. Chapter Three: Like Memories in Cold Decay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s not sure what possessed Minho to arrange this, but he’s going to take a wild guess that it was some form of revenge for something he doesn’t remember doing to deserve revenge.

 

> _“Of all tyrannies a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive.” ~ C. S. Lewis_

Thomas kind of regrets letting Gally answer the door...but not nearly as much as he regrets letting Minho borrow the phone the Sheriff gave him. If he hadn’t, Gally wouldn’t have a reason to open the door in the first place. Regardless he had lent Minho his phone...and as a result here he stands, trapped in the kitching watching Frypan cook while Minho and Gally set the tone for dinner in the foyer.

“They’re going to kill them,” Thomas tells Frypan for the ten-thousandth time, “I just know it. Min and Gally are going to murder my biological family.”

“That was the general idea, yes,” says Frypan, though if he means it or if he’s just trying to shut Thomas up, he can’t tell, “Could you hand me the salt shaker? Thanks.”

This is how family dinners are going to be, Thomas muses, ‘yes, we totally plan to murder your family, pass the salt.’

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Minho’s voice breaking through the silence that causes Thomas to step out into the main hall.

“Hey shuck-face, has Fry told ya how soon’s dinner going to be ready?”

“No, shank, he hasn’t.” Then Thomas turns towards their dinner guests. “Dad, Melissa, Scott.”

“Hey.”

“Hello, son.”

“Sti...Thomas.”

 _Shuck,_ Thomas thinks, _this is really shucking awkward._

He’s not sure what possessed Minho to arrange this, but he’s going to take a wild guess that it was some form of revenge for something he doesn’t remember doing to deserve revenge. Still. There isn't any other possible reason Minho would want to torture him. Right?

Thomas opens his mouth to say something (anything, really, no matter how stupid he’s sure it’ll end up being), but Frypan comes walking past with large plates of food and the words get lost on his lips.

"Dinner's ready." 

Thomas smiles, "Good that."

Dinner itself runs smoothly, if not awkwardly. Scott apologises for upsetting Thomas and Thomas makes several apologies for getting upset at all. Gally mocks him for it. Minho pelts Gally with peas and tells him to slim it.

The Sheriff admits that he and Melissa had gotten married while Thomas was _away_. Not trapped in a Maze...not missing…just _away_. He likes the way they say it because it takes away the memories of loss and pain and death.

It’s the most normal that Thomas has felt since W.I.C.K.E.D. had taken him. Had taken _Stiles_ and made him into _Thomas_ then ruined both _Thomas_ and _Stiles_ lives simultaneously.

He should know its all about to unravel again.

Good things rarely last more than a handful of hours in the life of Thomas Stilinski.

* * *

He’s having such a good time at dinner he invites the Sheriff, Scott, and Melissa to stay at New Homestead overnight. The Sheriff and Melissa get Thomas’ room and Scott takes the couch so Thomas ends up sharing a room with Minho, which shouldn’t be problematic...it isn’t problematic really.

Until suddenly it is.

Thomas hadn’t really considered how he would both share a room with Minho and not let Minho find out he’s not sleeping at night.  

It goes smoothly up to a certain point. Some parts of being in the Glade will ever leave them, sleeping habits will be one of them. Why change into pajamas and get them dirty when you could just sleep in your clothes. They have no qualms sharing a bed, in fact hearing each other snoring is something they’ve both missed, so they remove a few layers and crawl into bed around 10pm.

It’s the bedside lamp that shucks everything up.

Minho rolls over at about midnight, “Mmm...Tommy...put out the torch before we burn down Homestead. Good that?”

 _Shuck. Shuck. Shuck-ity shuck shuck shuck!_ Thomas hoped to be able to keep the light on without it bothering Minho, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

He turns off the light and closes his eyes. “Good that.”

_“Please, Tommy! Please!”_

_BANG!_

“Thomas? Thomas! Thomas, wake up!” When Thomas opens his eyes, he sees that Minho’s leaning over him with a look of concern on his face. “Hey,” Minho says in what is undoubtably meant to be a soothing voice. “Hey, it’s okay, Shuck-face, it’s okay.”

Thomas looks away.

 _It’s not okay._ He thinks bitterly, _It will never be okay. I murdered my best friend...your best friend...Newt. That’s not okay, Minho._

Minho isn't having Thomas' bullshit tonight however...either that or he's too tired to let this one go. "Why didn't you tell me?"

 _Double shuck._ "What didn't I tell you?" 

"The nightmares, shuck-face."

"What about them?" 

Minho gives his friend a look that says clearly  _how dumb are you?_ but Thomas doesn't care. He's afraid he'd been sleep talking. "Why didn't you tell me you were having nightmare? How long has it been going on?" 

"Not long...first time tonight... really..." Thomas doesn't mention that's only due to a complete lack of sleeping all together. He couldn't bring himself to make Minho worry about him. He didn't deserve Minho's concern.


	5. Chapter Four: Stupid Like Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re my best friend, shuck-face,” mutters Minho, “nothing could make me hate you. You could be a murderer for all I care.” He means it as a joke. A means of soothing Thomas into talking. He doesn't expect Thomas to respond the way he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes...the rare double update. 
> 
> Don't get used to it... I just couldn't resist posting this chapter the second I finished typing it.

_**Chapter Four: Stupid Like Crying** _

> _“The mighty Gladers, back together again. Good to see ya alive, shuck-face—I’ve imagined you dead in about a hundred different ways. I bet you cried every night, missing me.”~Minho (The Maze Runner Series)_

Minho is pissed. He goes through all that effort to sooth Thomas into feeling safe enough to sleep through the rest of the night only to find Thomas is gone when he gets back from his morning run.

Maybe he should have just stayed home. Maybe going for a run when he knew Thomas wasn’t acting like himself was a slinthead idea. He couldn’t help it. Minho ran to keep the nightmares away. He had to do something. If he didn’t run in the morning he’d have too much energy and all that energy would put itself towards something stupid like crying or thinking about the Trials or something Minho’d rather not do. So Minho went for his daily run and when he returns Thomas has gone to stay with his biological family.

Minho is pissed. A shucking note. That’s all the goodbye he gets from his so-called best friend. Seriously. What kind of best friend says goodbye via letter? It’s bad enough Thomas has been lying straight to his face...but this? This is treason.

“GAHHHHHH!” Minho doesn’t realize at first that he’s the one screaming. He just screams.

He falls to his knees, howling in pain, pulling at his hair with his fists.

“Minho! Minho, calm down!” Frypan tries his best to subdue the Keeper of the Runners, “Gally! Get your shuck-ass in here!”

Gally walks into the room calmly, a towel wrapped around his waist, clearly fresh from the shower. “What’s wrong?” the Keeper of the Builders asks.

“Thomas! Letter! Shuck-face! Traitor!” That’s all they get out of Minho, even after he calms down, but it’s enough to understand.  Thomas, the shuck-face traitor, left with nothing but a letter.

Minho went to take a shower. Maybe it would cool him down a little.

* * *

Thomas’ absence lasts all of a day before Minho gets a call asking him to come over when Thomas has a nightmare. Without a second thought Minho runs the several miles to the Sheriff’s House. He's silently glad he'd forgotten to give Thomas his phone back.

He doesn’t ask what the nightmares about. He doesn’t ask why Thomas had left.

Why?

Because he sees the haunted look in Thomas’ big honey-colored eyes and he knows.

Thomas left for the same reason Minho runs.

He wants to forget.

Forget the Trials, the Maze, the Glade, the Scorch, the Flare, the Cranks and the Grievers, and the rest of the lies force-fed to them by W.I.C.K.E.D.

So they say nothing.

They ask nothing.

They watch Star Wars.

They forget.

For the moment, they're not haunted.

* * *

Thomas moves back to New Homestead the next morning. The Sheriff may not like the fact his son isn’t going to stay, but he understands that Thomas needs the support, the closeness of the only other people who know what it is he went through.

Gally decks Thomas before pulling him into a bro-hug and saying, “Don’t do that again, slinthead.”

Frypan just sighs and says, “Welcome home, Thomas.”

One look at Thomas’ face and Minho knows that Thomas will never leave them like that again. He knows Thomas realizes that trying to run away from his memories was a shucking slinthead idea. He needs them...he needs them as much as they need him.

* * *

Thomas is screaming in the middle of the night again, and Minho’s feet take him to Thomas’ side on instinct. Wrapping his arms around his friend’s sleeping form Minho tries to sooth his friend.

 

“I CAN’T!”

“Shhh...Thomas.” Minho sooths, “Thomas, wake up.”

Thomas keeps thrashing.

“THOMAS!”

“Minho?” Thomas’ voice is nervous. Fearful.

“Shh.” Minho sooths, “Thomas, shhh. It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe. W.I.C.K.E.D.’s gone now.”

Thomas pulls away. “Stop.”

“Wha…”

  
“Stop being nice to me.” Thomas says, “I don’t deserve it.”

“Thomas.”

“Please, Minho. Please.” Minho can’t help but notice the way Thomas flinches at his own words. It’s like he’s spitting out poison.

Minho sighs, “Tell me why. Tell my why you can’t stand  my help.”

“I can’t, Minho. If I tell you, you’ll hate me.” Thomas looks at his hands, flinching away from Minho’s desperate attempts at comforting him.

“You’re my best friend, shuck-face,” mutters Minho, “nothing could make me hate you. You could be a murderer for all I care.” He means it as a joke. A means of soothing Thomas into talking. He doesn't expect Thomas to respond the way he does.

“I am a murderer." He hears the words leave Thomas' mouth and as much he doesn't want to believe them, the way Thomas' whole body is shaking as he sobs Minho can't really deny that it's true. "I killed Newt. Shuck, I'd shot him in the head. I didn’t want to, Minho, but he begged and begged. What was I supposed to do? I didn't know. If I'd known I wouldn't have. But I didn't know! I thought...and he looked so afraid to live, Minho. So scared. I couldn't let him suffer like that.”

Minho wants to be pissed, but he can’t be, not with the way Thomas’ shoulders sag with relief.

He wants to be pissed, he wants to want revenge, he wants to hate Thomas but he takes one look at the shaking broken shell of his friend and he can't.

He's upset. Sure.  He's more upset with Thomas for not telling him sooner than he is about it happening. He thought he was sparing Newt from pain and suffering. He hadn't wanted to. For the first time in months Thomas is honest with Minho.

**  
Minho almost wishes he had just let Thomas keep lying.**


	6. Chapter Five: Howlin' Around Your Kitchen Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas isn’t sure what he’s more concerned by: the fact that Derek Hale is waiting in the kitchen when they get home, or the fact that Minho, Gally, and Fry managed to find several sharp knives (seriously, where did all those machetes come from?) and were all in possition to decapitate him at a seconds notice.

 

> _Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.~Buddha_

She couldn't believe it when she saw him for the first time in three years. He was working at a stall at the local farmers market, selling home grown organic produce with some (super muscle-y) Asian dude and a black guy with a beard selling homemade baked goods, and another kind-of muscular guy selling handmade furniture. It all looked really good too: the produce and the baked goods and the furniture and his friends. He looked good too. More fit. More Manly. Less like someone that could be snapped easily in half.  

  
Still. It was definitely him. She could tell just by looking at him: the same moles, the same honey-colored eyes, the same general trip-over-air mannerism.

"Stiles?"

* * *

“Stiles?”

"Malia?" Because, oh shuck no, Thomas is not ready to go face-to-face with his first-ever-girlfriend the morning after he’s just finally confessed to Minho. Confessing to Minho had been an awkward enough experience for one twenty-four hour period thank-you-very-much.

And yes, he’s incredibly grateful that he didn’t say any of that out loud, because A) he’d already jeopardized his friendship with Minho enough last night, and B) he’s fully aware of the way everyone who wasn’t there (so, everyone but him and Minho) would take it to mean a LOVE confession and not a I-Totally-Killed-Our-Mutual-Best-Friend confession...and wouldn’t that just be awkward? He was having a hard enough time looking Minho in the eyes as it was. Minho, to his everlasting credit had been okay...well, no, not okay with Thomas having killed Newt, but well, he wasn’t being a total slinthead about it at least.

“So, how’s it been?” Malia is about as awkward as Thomas remembers.

“Good.” Thomas replies.

Minho snorts humorlessly, “Yeah. Aside from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant overwhelming crushing fear that something terrible is about to happen.”

“Slim it, Minho.” Thomas has never before been more glad for Gally being a total shuck-face. Still, Thomas likes Minho’s friendship too much to not jump to his aid.

  
“You slim it, Gally.” Then he turns back to Malia, “So, what’s the Life of Malia Hale-Tate Like these days.”

She snorts, “The Life of Malia Hale-Tate? Boring. I miss cuddling. You were a good cuddler. You were warm too...and had a very soft bed.”

Thomas makes a very conscious effort to not punch Gally’s lights out when he snorts. Mostly because  Gally and Fry have only just stopped laughing at the way Minho and Thomas had been found cuddling when their roommates came to wake them up that morning. Minho and Thomas had both kept their mouths shut about having only fallen asleep like that after discussing (and crying over) Newt’s death.

“Seriously? You went there? Do you have any idea how much klunk these guys are going to give me for that? I’ll never live it down. Never.”

Malia snorts, “C’mon, it’s not like I told them you were the little spoon.”

“Oh my God.” Thomas has the horrible sinking feeling in his gut that he’s blushing and is feeling relatively grateful that Gally isn’t turning on his ‘I’m a total shuck-face’ mode and laughing him off the planet right then and there, to be honest. Though, he thinks fearfully, maybe the Builder was waiting for Malia to keep spewing embarrassing pre-Trials Thomas stories.  

“So,” Malia asks suddenly, “Fresh produce?”

“We got good at self sufficiency when we were…” Thomas grimaces, “well, when we were where we were.”

“Okay,” mutters the were-Coyote, “because that’s not vague at all.”

“Trust me,” says Minho, “you don’t want to know more. You think you do, but you really, really don’t.”

“Right, well then, six tomatoes and a strawberry preserve please.” Says Malia, “I’ll be back next week to try your other product.”

* * *

Thomas isn’t sure what he’s more concerned by: the fact that Derek Hale is waiting in the kitchen when they get home, or the fact that Minho, Gally, and Fry managed to find several sharp knives (seriously, where did all those machetes come from?) and were all in possition to decapitate him at a seconds notice.

“Hey Derek.”

“Stiles.” Derek doesn’t smile. He never had and probably never would but he seemed less angry. Relieved? Concerned? Possibly both.

  
“What do you want with Thomas?” Minho asks dangerously.

“Guys it’s okay. It’s just Derek Hale.” Thomas says, taking pity on the highly-evolved former-alpha werewolf that was loitering, uninvited, in their kitchen. “He’s cool...he’s a creeper, but he’s not going to rip anyone’s throat out with his teeth.”

The Gladers lowered their weapons. Frypan takes Thomas at his word, Gally grumbles (he really needs an outlet for his pent up anger) but followed Frypan’s lead. Minho, however, hesitates.

“Hurt him,” Minho says, growling almost as much as the werewolves Thomas grew up with, “if he so much as breaks a nail because of you…”

“You’ll run me through with a machete?” Derek asks, the others don’t notice, but Thomas recognizes the subtle amusement in his voice.

“I’ll torture you. I will kill you, revive you, then kill you again, and continue to repeat the process until you’re begging for death.” Minho’s voice leaves no room for doubt. He will follow through on his threat.

“Minho…” Thomas tries.

“I’ve already lost one of my best friends,” Minho mutters, “I’m not losing you too.”

Derek’s expression softens. “I can understand that logic. Don’t worry, hurting Sti...hurting Thomas isn’t really a priority of mine."

"Really? Not a... dude,  you once bashed bashed my head into a steering wheel!"

"You pimped me out to manipulate Danny into breaking the law." Derek arches a brow,  "you deserved it...by the way I like what you've done with the place."

"Gally did almost all of it." Thomas replies, his cheeks turning pink at the varying degrees of disbelief on his friends faces.

"Gally is which of the guys with machetes?" Thomas laughs at the way Derek words it.

"Ginger. Eyebrows. Scowl." says Thomas, "The nice one who just vanished into the pantry is Frypan. He's our designated cook. The one who threatened you with multiple death sentences is Minho, my best friend."

"Ah." Derek nods.

Thomas is forever grateful when Minho drags Gally out of the room saying,"We'll let you two catch up."

"So." Thomas mutters once they're alone.

"I'm glad you're alive." Derek begins, forcing Thomas to think about how much damage W.I.C.K.E.D had done. He'd been gone for three years. His family, his friends, they must have lost hope after so long. "I'm glad you're alive...and I'm glad it was you."

"What?" He was glad it was Thomas that got taken?

"This house." Derek explains quickly, "I'm glad it was you that bought it."

“Oh.” It’s all Thomas can come up with for a response, “I didn’t really… I mean, Gally’d picked it out and had it half renovated before I even remembered that I knew you.”

“Still.” Derek insists as Thomas leads him out of Frypan’s kitchen before the Cook could come back and chase them out with a skillet, “I’m glad you’re the one living here. Keeps it in the pack. Did that...Gally you said his name was...did he really do all the repairs?”

“Yeah, well, I mean, back in the...the Glade, he was a builder, Keeper of the Builders actually,” Thomas said, he’d never really respected all the hard work Gally’d put into the Glade before he’d seen him work on the Hale House. Now he bragged about Gally’s skills to anyone who’d listen. It had gotten Gally a part time job at the hardware store and brought several customers by their Farmer’s Market booth every Sunday to buy Gally’s handcrafted furniture.

“Impressive.” Derek looks pensive as he glances around at the various changes. “It’s been nice seeing you Sti...Thomas, I’d love to ask you more about the house, but unfortunately I promised Cora that I’d be back in time to give her a first hand account of how you were doing over lunch.”

“Cora’s back?”

“Cora. Isaac. Argent. Jackson. Ethan. Deucalion.” Derek shrugs, “They all came back to help in the search efforts.”

“The search efforts?” Thomas arches a brow, “You mean the…”

“Yes, Thomas, the search for you...three years, we never stopped looking.

 

“Braeden?” Thomas asks uncertainly, Derek’s track record of girlfriends made this topic a risky one.

“She’s been in Iraq tracking down a lead on your whereabouts, took a while to get word to her that you’d come strolling back into town, but she’s booked the first flight she could when we finally did. She’s expected back tomorrow morning.”

“Oh. Okay.” Because, really, what do you say to that? Thomas wonders. “Anyway, feel free to stop by anytime,” You’ll just do it anyway, might as well just make it official. That’s what Thomas wants to say but doesn’t. “Tell Cora and Malia the same applies to her.”

“Braeden and Peter?” Derek asks.

“Yes to Braeden. No to Uncle Creepy Mc Murder.” Thomas says.

Derek snorts, “Goodbye, Thomas.”

**  
“Bye.”**


	7. Chapter Six: Beacon Hills Coffee and Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beacon Hills Coffee and Tea soon going to turn into Thomas’ base of operations, he just knows it. He leaves Roscoe in the parking lot and heads inside, laptop in hand, and orders a coffee (black coffee, over ice, no sugar) from the Barista. A tall, long haired blond guy who looks really familiar…
> 
>  
> 
> “Stiles?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Isaac?”

 

 

> _Don’t be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before we can meet again and meeting again, after moments or a lifetime, is certain for those who are friends._

Cora and Malia quickly take up Thomas’ offer, and spend most of their time at the old Hale House and Gally would constantly reprimand anyone who calls it anything but New Homestead. It was nice. Well, not Gally’s lectures on the name of their house, but the way Cora tells stories about growing up there and Malia hangs onto her every word, trying to grasp desperately at the ghosts of the family she’ll never know. Thomas watchs on with curious eyes. Wary of what he says in their presence and thankful for the distraction it brings him.  

Let’s face it. Minho may be his best friend, but there’s only so much of the awkwardness that comes with sharing a secret like the one they do that any person can take.

Sure, Minho is still sarcastic with him and helps him deal with his nightmares, but Thomas can see the hurt in Minho’s eyes every so often. Worse, he knows what caused that hurt. Him. The second he put a bullet into Newt’s head. The second he told Minho what he’d done. He was glad to have something else to focus his attention on.

The best part of the Hale girls stopping by, though, is not the distraction so much as the entertainment provided by their interactions with the Gladers.

Thomas has the routine down to a finely tuned schedule.

After they are in the house for fifteen minutes (no more, no less) Frypan would test out new recipes on them. At the moment it was hand-dipped chocolate covered strawberries. Cora is in the midst of eating her twelfth when Minho walks in and throws himself onto the couch, his head on Thomas’ lap, feet on the armrest, and his eyes closed.

“Three.” Minho whispers, “Two. One.”

“Action.” finishes Thomas, right as Gally walks in, sees Cora and Malia and trips over his own two feet. It takes everything for Minho and Thomas to keep from laughing at Gally. Big, strong, terrifying Gally who can build anything with his own hands and throw Thomas across the room with ease, but can't talk to a pair of girls without making a fool of himself.  This time Gally includes the added entertainment value of hiting his face on the coffee table. Unlike Thomas and Minho, Cora isn’t bothering to hide her laughter. Malia, however, takes pity on him and gets him a makeshift ice-pack.

“Here.” She says it harshly, but Thomas remembers a time when she’d have just looked on emotionlessly, if not coldly, and not bothered to help at all. He’s so proud of how far she’s come from the feral girl he’d dated three years ago.

He must have a sappy, far off look on his face, because Minho snorts and mutters, “You should see yourself right now.”

“Says the guy using my lap as a pillow.” Thomas counters. Minho huffs, but says nothing.

“ ‘m not sleeping.”  
  


“I didn’t say you were sleeping.” Thomas teases, “I said you’re using my lap as a pillow.”

“If you don’t stop this right now, and you have a nightmare tonight, I’m not going to comfort you.”

“Oh, the horror.” Thomas rolls his eyes, but that’s mostly for the benefit of their audience. He really doesn’t know what he’ll do if Minho follows through on that. Not that he's worried, because he knows Minho would never actually follow through. 

* * *

Derek also stops by on occasion, not as often as Cora and Malia of course, but he does. It takes awhile to get used to it, but about once a week the four of them come home to find Derek Hale in their kitchen. Gally talks about the changes he’s made to the floor plan of the house, and Derek seems to be genuinely impressed. Frypan makes lunch and Derek is always complimentary. He admires the garden Thomas and Minho have started as well. He’s most impressed by the fact that they’re pretty much self-sustaining.

The thing about Derek Hale, though, is that he never knocks before entering, so when Thomas goes to his room to rest a bit before dinner he’s not really surprised to find the werewolf waiting in his bedroom.

“If you’re looking for Malia and Cora, they left about an hour ago,” says Thomas.

“I wanted to ask your help with something.” Derek sounds...reluctant. A reluctant Derek has  never been a good sign in Thomas’ experience.  

Thomas sighs, “It’s werewolf stuff, isn’t it.”

“I didn’t want to get you involved unless I had no choice,” Derek skirting around his question is answer enough for Thomas.

“You’ve run out of options right?” Thomas mutters, he doesn’t expect any response.

“You don’t have to help if you’re not ready...not...comfortable?”  

Thomas rolls his eyes, “C’mon, Sourwolf, I’ve been waiting for something interesting and paranormal to happen since I got back. I miss the action.” Besides, he adds silently, I need the distraction from my thoughts desperately.

“Should I be concerned that you’re bored with the fact you’re life isn’t in danger?”

Possibly, he thinks.

“Nope.”  

Derek shakes his head but he sighs, “Sti...Thomas, strange things are happening in town.”

“I figured out that much by the fact you’re asking me for help, Derek.”

“I mean,” Derek clarifies, “people have been dropping dead in town. No obvious cause of death.”

“Could it be they were just sick?”

“If they were sick it wouldn’t be strange. They’re perfectly healthy.”

“Aside from being dead, you mean.”

“Aside from being dead.” Derek agrees, “Look, it’s not like they’re good people that are dying. They’re the kind of people that have a lot of enemies. I was hoping you could do some research for me.”

“On it, Sourwolf.” Thomas Stilinski hadn’t felt so right in a very long time.

* * *

  
Boy, is he ever on it. Thomas grabs a combat jacket from somewhere on his bedroom floor (it may or may not be Minho’s) and his car keys from the desk, and without a word he peels out of the drive in Roscoe, heading towards the nearest place that he could find the near-fatal combination of caffeine and a wifi connection.

Beacon Hills Coffee and Tea soon going to turn into Thomas’ base of operations, he just knows it. He leaves Roscoe in the parking lot and heads inside, laptop in hand, and orders a coffee (black coffee, over ice, no sugar) from the Barista. A tall, long haired blond guy who looks really familiar…

“Stiles?”

“Isaac?” Because, holy mother of shuck, it is without a doubt Isaac Lahey. Older. More European in his style (Thomas didn't realize that was possible but some how Isaac managed it). Still, it's Isaac, maybe he's not the same tall, awkward, asshole, ball of nerves that Thomas knew in high school, but it's Isaac.

“Yeah.” Isaac nods, “Scott said you were back...I was going to stop by. I was, I just didn’t know if you wanted to see us all...you know I didn’t want to overwhelm you...I mean. I just.”

“Isaac. ISAAC. It’s okay. Slim it, man, you’re sounding like me.”

Isaac blushes slightly, his long blond hair falling slightly into his eyes. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine...you just seemed really nervous.”

“No...I’m sorry I couldn’t find you. I tried to find you.” Isaac whispers, “If I had just come back with Chris in the first place maybe you wouldn’t have been taken.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Thomas sighs, “there's no way of knowing. Isaac, if you keep dwelling on what could have been, you’ll forget about what’s happening in the here and now.”

Isaac doesn’t look like he buys it but Thomas isn’t going to let the guilt of what he couldn’t change eat away at Isaac the same way it was eating away at him, “A good friend once told me, that it doesn’t matter what we did before. What matters is who we are now and what we do right now.”

“Sounds pretty brilliant.”

“He was.”

Thomas is eternally thankful that Isaac doesn’t pry. He’s not sure he could handle talking about it right now. Even still, he can see the understanding in Isaac’s eyes: Thomas would tell him if and when he was ready. Isaac understands that forcing the issue isn’t going to do any good.

* * *

Somewhere, amidst the numerous hours Thomas spends researching the Mysterious C.O.D.-Free Deaths to no avail (so far all he’s come up with the the Killing Curse from Harry Potter (which Deaton has assured him, several times,  is not an actual thing), he and Isaac have become friends.

Like real friends. It’s not like it was before when they just tolerated each other for Scott’s benefit, they actually talk to one another.

Isaac becomes Thomas’ link to the pack as well as his research buddy and caffeine provider, because he may hang out with Derek and Malia and Cora but he’s never considered asking them about the rest of the pack, and he feels kind of guilty about it.

“No way! Why didn’t Scott tell me this!?” Thomas asks after Isaac informs him of Scott and Kira getting engaged.

“Because it happened last night?”

“Still!” Isaac laughs at this, “He’s my brother. Literally! Our parents are married, Isaac!”

“Dude, it happened, like, yesterday. Besides, I know, he’s my brother too. Mel adopted me like a month after you’d disappeared...actually,” Isaac pauses, as if he’s never thought of this before, “ That makes you and me brothers too.”

“I.”  

“You what?”

“It’s you and I,” Thomas corrects, “not you and me.”

Isaac laughs again, “That right there, that is why I’m going to Culinary School instead of University.”

“Culinary School? ” Thomas shakes his head, but he smiles at Isaac to show he’s only surprised and not upset or disappointed or anything like that.

“The Culinary Institute of Beacon County,” Isaac is clearly waiting to see how Thomas will react, “it’s, like, a fifteen minute drive from the apartment.”

Thomas tries not to focus on the fact that Isaac had said the apartment, like it’s not his just somewhere he’s living. Its a close call, but he manages to keep from asking about it. They're brothers, if Isaac wanted to tell him he’d tell him. So instead of asking about it Thomas smiles, still flipping angrily through one of several Bestiaries open on the table (he hopes Isaac knows he’s angry at the book and not angry at Isaac), “Do you like it?”

“Yes. I love it.” Isaac admits happily as he rubs the back of his neck that away he does when he’s nervous, “I’m good at it too. I really love pastry. I was thinking of opening a bakery when I finish.”

“Then open a bakery. I think it’s great that you found something you love.” He means it too, if anyone deserves to find happiness it’s Isaac Lahey. The guy’s had enough tragedy and pain for one lifetime. It was only a matter of time before the blond finally found something good in his life. Still he can’t resist adding on, “and if the bakery thing doesn’t work out, you could work the Farmer’s Market with my housemates and I. Though, admittedly, Frypan might be upset by the competition in the kitchen.”

Isaac laughs, turning back to their research, “Maybe it's the work of a Dee-jin. or a Duh-jean. However you pronounce it.”

Thomas manages not to snicker at Isaac’s pronunciation, “Do you mean a Djinn?”

“Maybe?” Isaac admits, rubbing his neck with  one hand while he traces the word with the index finger of the other, “ it’s spelled D-J-I-N-N.”

“Djinn.” Thomas says decisively, “Huh...Djinn. Like...genies.”

“It kind of makes sense, doesn’t it? What with all the victims having so many enemies. Though,” Isaac agrees, reading further through description of Djinn, “that raises more questions than answers.”

“Like, how do we kill one?”

 **  
**“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Which kind’ and ‘how many are we dealing with’,” Isaac sighs, “But I like yours better.”


	8. Chapter Seven: Every Careful Word you Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac frowns like a new puppy that doesn’t quite realize what he’s done wrong. At the same time Frypan just stares blankly at the werewolf in a way that says plainly, after three years of being psychologically tortured because some rich people got bored, that a werewolf bringing him pastries is what pushes him past his breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended to take longer on this...oops? 
> 
> Um...Yeah...There was actually more to this chapter but I decided I'd post it in two parts so that I had more time to nit-pick the second half some more...also they work better as two chapters because it just flows better. That said, the next chapter will be more interesting and fun...this chapter is still very important to the plot but it's still not as fun as the parts that will follow.

 

> _“A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you.” ~ Elbert Hubbard_

The Gladers who didn’t grow up in Beacon Hills learn about werewolves separately and in different ways. Frypan learns first, much to Thomas’ surprise, when Isaac comes over with a Thank-You basket of home baked sweets for helping the pack reasearch the Djinn and ends up nearly ripping Fry’s throat out when the Cook takes offence and tries to chase him off the premise with a cast-iron skillet. Gally’s taken Roscoe to the hardware store to get more supplies for the furniture he makes for the Farmer’s Market, Minho’s out for his morning run, and Thomas walks in from the garden just in time to shout, “ISAAC, STOP!” before there is any actual bloodshed.

He’s not sure who he’s more disappointed in: Isaac or Frypan.

Isaac frowns like a new puppy that doesn’t quite realize what he’s done wrong. At the same time Frypan just stares blankly at the werewolf in a way that says plainly, after three years of being psychologically tortured because some rich people got bored, that a werewolf bringing him pastries is what pushes him past his breaking point.

It takes a lot of quick talking and panicked flailing on Thomas’ part, three mason jars of chamomile tea, and about a dozen of Isaac’s “Thank-You” pastries to get Frypan out of his catatonic state and into a sworn secrecy where Beacon Hills’ Paranormal Population is concerned.

After all of five seconds Isaac and Frypan develop a truce of sorts and start a discussion of Isaac’s classes at the Culinary Institute of Beacon County. Thomas doesn’t say anything as they plot to make a dinner together for both the Pack and the Gladers, but he silently fears the day they try to alchemize Gally’s Special Blend with molecular gastronomy.

* * *

Thomas isn’t there when Gally learns about werewolves, so he’s not really sure how it happens exactly, but he thinks that, maybe, it’s Malia who tells him. Mostly because Malia is the only werewolf that Gally actually communicates with in the time before he finds out, but also because Gally and Malia are apparently Gally-and-Malia.

Galia.

Mally.

Thomas really can’t wrap his head around it...but it’s a thing, apparently, so he just goes with it. He hasn’t completely hated Gally in just shy of a year and he hasn’t loved Malia romantically for just over three. They’re his friends and he’s happy that they’ve found someone. That said, if they break up, he’s not sure who’s ass he’d ultimately kick because they’re both equally important parts of his life, but he’ll cross that bridge if and when he gets to it. Most likely he’d just end up kicking both their asses and be done with both of them until they realize how good they are for each other because Gally with Malia in his life is infinitely more tolerable than Gally without Malia. Thomas never thought he’d be happy that his ex was dating his friend before, but hey, there’s a first time for everything.

Anyway, Thomas finds out that Gally knows about werewolves when Derek calls up and tells Thomas that Malia’s been attacked by a Djinn who was none too happy with the pack trying to interfere with it’s wish-granting. As he runs up to Deaton’s he sees that his Jeep is already in the parking lot, which can only mean that Gally is there too.

It’s not until Thomas tries to come up with some sort of excuse for what was going on and Gally says, “I know about werewolves already, Slinthead,” that he realises just how close Gally and Malia have gotten.

It takes hours for Malia to wake up again and Thomas and Gally now have seventeen missed calls from Minho, one text from Isaac letting him know he was heading to New Homestead to get Thomas and take him to Deaton’s because his Jeep arrived without him, and thirty-three missed texts from Frypan and Isaac telling them to call Minho back before his ranting and pacing causes their souffles to fall.

Because Isaac now has this thing where he stress bakes apparently...and really, what soothes the nerves quite like making something that you’re constantly worried that butterfly flapping it's wings in the Amazon will make it collapse in on itself? Thomas often questions the logic of werewolves...for example: do they have any?

The answer: He’s not so sure.

He is sure, however, that Minho is really, really worried. So he steps out of Deaton’s office and calls Minho back.

“Hey.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he does when he’s nervous.

“Don’t you ‘Hey’, me you...you Slintheaded shuck-faced klunk-for-brains, !” Minho hisses, “Now are you going to tell me who you’ve been keeping from me and why I get the feeling it has something to do with why I’ve been worried out of my mind you’d died or worse, W.I.C.K.E.D. had you.”

“Minho, this…” Thomas sighs, “this isn’t an over the phone conversation.”  
  


“Fine.” Thomas can hear the bitterness in Minho’s voice but he can also hear the deep sigh that often accompanies renewed peace of mind, so she knows that on some level they're still okay with each other,  “but you will tell me as soon as you get back.”

“Of course.”

And he does, because Minho is his best friend and Isaac is still there to show off his wolfie-powers. Minho get’s slightly annoyed that of all the things Thomas could choose to keep secret it had to be the awesome fact werewolf were a thing...which apparently  is nowhere near as awful as the 101 different terrible things Minho’s mind had come up with. Other than that, Minho doesn't hate him. Thomas is starting to wonder what it would take take to get Minho to not be his friend. Not that he's complaining. Thomas prefers a life with Minho’s friendship over a life without it.

 

* * *

 

Isaac gets in touch with Argent after showing Minho his furry-little-problem. The ex-hunter then arrives promptly at the Gladers door and trains them in the art of supernatural self-defence. It's just the basics, of course. Mountain Ash, Wolfsbane, Mistletoe (Minho has a hard time not laughing at that one and both Argent and Thomas smack him upside the head and tell him to pay attention)...you know, the usual.

About a week later Argent deems them "prepared enough" and Scott welcomes the Gladers as Pack with open arms.

It's Thomas who's reluctant.

The Gladers have only just assimilated back into society. They all still have nightmares of W.I.C.K.E.D. and everything else they went through. Thomas knows he's not the only one because he's often woken from nightmares of his own to hear Gally screaming bloody murder down the hall. Gally doesn't say it outright, but Thomas knows, or at least suspects, that it's Chuck's final moments Gally keeps replaying in his mind. Thomas understands all too well what that feels like and can't find it in his heart to be anything but sympathetic for the Builder.

It's that sympathetic notion that makes Thomas reluctant to let the Gladers and Pack fuse together. Sure, he'll let the Gladers join the Pack if they really want, even if he didn't let them they’d just do it anyway. Thomas doesn't even try to pretend he has that sort of power over his friends. He does, however, make a point of letting them know how much he disapproves every chance he gets.

 **  
**He knows that the Gladers were still healing and he knows that, before W.I.C.K.E.D. had barged into the police station where Stiles was handcuffed to his father’s desk while his dad and Malia went for pizza over three years ago, Thomas had been possessed by a Nogitsune, beaten up by several big-bads, manhandled by several Hales, and watched on as his friends (and eventually he, himself) were hunted as part of the dead pool. He didn’t want his friends to go through that...not even Gally, especially when they were still fighting W.I.C.K.E.D.'s ghost for ownership of their minds.


	9. Chapter Eight: I Wished for This- Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone’s also pretty much bored because there are only so long you can wait for the Djinn to show themselves again and the pack that Thomas hasn’t gotten back in contact with has apparently been pestering Scott, Kira (she’s hired Isaac as her caterer for the wedding and Isaac has enlisted Frypan to the cause, so the three of them spent a lot of time in the kitchen of New Homestead experimenting with food), Isaac and the Hales about when they’d get to see him again (or meet him in the case of new pack members like Theo, Corey, and Lucas).

_**Chapter Eight: I Wished for This- part a** _

The thing with the Djinn just sort of ends without any real fighting. It’s unsettling and Thomas tells as much to Minho and his brothers (he’s still not used to the fact that he, Isaac, and Scott are related) and pretty much everyone is sick of hearing it.

Everyone’s also pretty much bored because there are only so long you can wait for the Djinn to show themselves again and the pack that Thomas hasn’t gotten back in contact with has apparently been pestering Scott, Kira (she’s hired Isaac as her caterer for the wedding and Isaac has enlisted Frypan to the cause, so the three of them spent a lot of time in the kitchen of New Homestead experimenting with food), Isaac and the Hales about when they’d get to see him again (or meet him in the case of new pack members like Theo, Corey, and Lucas).

Liam is the worst according to Isaac. Scott rolls his eyes but he doesn’t disagree.

“He went kind of off the rails when you were...away.” Kira admits, as she tastes the different types of cake that Isaac knows how to make.

“While he was away?” Malia snorts, “He went off the rails because he went away.”

Thomas freezes as he sprawls tiredly across the couch. He, Minho, and Isaac have been up all night researching activity patterns of Djinn. Okay, so he’s been researching it and managed to coerce Isaac (“You’re my brother now and sometimes brothers help brothers with things even when one doesn’t really want to because it’s the brotherly thing to do, Isaac.”) and Minho (“C’mon, you Shank, you’re supposed to be my best friend. It will give me peace of mind.”) into helping him.  Malia’s words send a shiver down his spine.

“What do you mean, Mal?”

She sighs and looks at Scott, “Did no one tell him what happened?” The silence was answer enough, apparently, “Shit. Okay, well, you were, like, the first one to help Liam get any real control over his wolf without Scott Alpha-growling him into submission. He hero worshipped you for that...he nearly went nuclear when you disappeared."

Thomas cringes, “Really?”

“Really.” Says Cora, licking homemade fudge off of a spoon, before dipping in back in and handing it to Minho.

Minho, being Minho, decides that the only possible fix for this thing with Liam is to invite the pack over for a Glade-style bonfire, complete with a burning man, Gally’s Special Blend, and wrestling (in spite of Thomas’ protests of “werewolves though! Seriously, Minho, they’re werewolves!”).

Isaac and Scott both say they don’t see what the big deal is, so Minho wins the argument and get’s to have his werewolf bonfire bonding session. Isaac and Frypan start discussing menu options and Scott and Minho start discussing everyone’s schedules to avoid any conflicting interests. Malia and Gally have off being Malia-and-Gally in some dark corner of New Homestead -- most-likely Gally’s room -- for the last twenty minutes.

“Don’t I get any say in this?” And, though he’ll deny it profusely, he’s totally pouting.

Cora rolls her eyes playfully, “Nah.”

* * *

The first time Thomas sees Liam again its the night of the bonfire party, and the teen practically throws his arms around him and holds him and scents him and Thomas is fairly certain Liam is crying.

It makes Thomas feel relieved to be home in a way he has yet to feel previously. Like his disappearance had made an impact, a real one, which felt weird, since Liam wasn’t exactly his friend before.

But maybe that’s why it drums the idea home.

He and Liam had barely known each other when Stiles had been made into Thomas and broken down into nothing and risen from the ashes and returned home something new and foreign. He comes home a stranger, and still Liam, someone he’d barely known, had missed him this much.  

The next person to walk through the door is Deputy Parrish, who gives him a slight recognition. After Parrish, however, is Lydia, he hadn’t realized how much he missed the strawberry blonde until she backhands him across the face.

“I missed you.”

“Duh.” She replies.

  
“You’re lucky that Minho didn’t kill you for hitting me across the face.”

“I think he’s trying but Isaac and his new friend are holding him back.”

“It’s official,” Thomas laughs, “Isaac is my favorite sibling.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” said Lydia, “I need a drink before the rest of the Pack gets here.”

Lydia is followed by four guys he didn’t know, plus Brett and Mason, Liam’s best friend, all of whom hound him with questions (except for Mason, who Thomas is now ready to appoint for Sainthood). He feels like he’s trapped in the slammer back in the Glade when Theo, Alex, Byron, and Luke have him cornered (Mason has taken Brett off for drinks after a cordial, “welcome home, man.”).

It takes a while, but Isaac and Scott finally come over and rescue Thomas from the throng of Betas. Never in his life has he been more grateful to anyone who wasn’t Minho.   
  


“C’mon, Alex, I think Sophie just showed up,” said Scott, “and Theo maybe you should go hang out with Liam and Mason.”

“Sure thing,” Said Theo.

  
“We’ll go hang out with them too.” Said Byron, dragging Luke off with them. Alex was already rushing off toward some girl Thomas hadn’t seen come in.

“You okay?” Asked Scott.

“Yeah, just...just a little overwhelming.”

Isaac nods like he completely understands what he means, “Packs grown a bit.”

“I see that.” Thomas laughs at the understatement. At least fifteen other people were here in addition to Alex, Theo, Byron, and Lucas, that Thomas didn’t know.  “How many people are there in the pack now?”

“Twenty-Three.” says Isaac, smiling as a brunette in a white peacoat and baby-blue.  scarf. "You've met, Theo, Alex, Byron, and Lucas, but there's also Sophie, Delaine, Corey, Carl, Lena, Cambridge, Hudson, Lorelei, and Baylor."

“That’s a lot of werewolves.” Thomas says, whistling, “Someone’s been busy.”

“You have no idea.” Says Isaac with a laugh, “We’ve been trying to stay alive, we needed numbers in order to protect the town, fight off hunters, and search for you.”  

“So, who is she?”

“Huh?”

“The girl you’ve been staring at for the last five minutes,” Thomas teases, “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Delaine Leblanc,” Isaac replies, “We met in Paris, Our relationship is...well...complicated.”

“Do you like her?”

“Yes, that’s why it’s complicated.”

Thomas frowns, “I’m not sure I follow.”

“We broke up.”

“Oh.”

**  
Isaac nods and Thomas figures that his brother will go into more detail when he’s ready.**


	10. Chapter Eight: I Wished for This- Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson had a good point, Stiles would have made sure the first thing he did when he remembered who he was would be to call Scott and ask if Lydia’d missed him. Thomas? Thomas ran from Scott, hid from Lydia. Thomas had learned his dad had married Melissa weeks after he’d come home.
> 
>  
> 
> Thomas wasn’t Stiles.
> 
>  
> 
> That was the problem here.

**Chapter Nine: I Wished for This -Part Two**

> _Never part without loving words to think of during your absence. It may be that you will not meet again in this life. ~Jean Paul Richter_

 

Thomas watches as the people begin to swarm around each other, watches as Scott and Minho and Cora and Kira all laugh together, watches as Isaac moves away to where Frypan is still bringing out platters of food, glancing every-so-often towards Delaine in the baby blue scarf. Malia and Gally are off being Galia in some secluded corner of New Homestead while Lydia, Brett, Mason, and Liam all ingest potentially lethal amounts of Gally’s Special Blend of trademark moonshine. The rest of the wolves are dancing around each other.

Then in walks Derek and Braeden and the bonfire can finally begin.

The Gladers torch the burning man and Gally is wrestling like they used to do in the Glades. Currently his opponent is Minho, who looks to be holding his own against the Builder. Thomas is half tempted to call next, when a group of his new fanclub decide to bombard him with questions.

Where had he been?

 

Why’d he change his name?

Who had taken him?

He looks around for Isaac or Fry or Scott or Malia, but all of them are too busy watching Minho and Gally to notice.

“Hey!” the order comes from somewhere behind the new kids, and Thomas takes the distraction as a means of escape and runs full speed into the house to hide.

“Pathetic,” he mumbles, “I’m hiding from kids. Pull yourself together, Thomas. Newt wouldn’t let you act like this.”

Thomas shakes his head, what does it matter what Newt would want. Newt is dead.

Newt is dead.   

In the back of Thomas’ mind, he knew it was stupid, especially with the Djinn infestation, but the Djinn hadn’t made a move in weeks. “I wish Newt was here. I wish he was alive and I wish he was here.”

“You okay?” the voice comes unexpectedly behind him, causing him to jump.

“Jackson?” Thomas blinked, mostly because he was afraid of what Jackson had heard. But if Jackson was going to mock him or ask a million questions he wasn’t letting on.

“I’m fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes, Jackson, fine...Like the synonym of good, decent, okay, antonym of pathetic.” It was all the usual sarcasm without the usual level of bite.

“Fine.” Jackson scoffs out the word like it’s poison, “Teenagers make you act like a caged animal. You’re lucky I noticed, Stilinski, you looked like you were five seconds away from a panic attack.”

“I was.”

Thomas doesn’t care if Jackson mocks him at this point. He doesn’t care because the alternative is lying, and right now he just doesn’t have the energy to think of a good one.

“But you’re fine.” Jackson isn’t laughing, and that almost bothers Thomas more than if he mocked the life out of him for being weak and pathetic. “Sure, Stilinski.”

“What would you know about it? You’re life is perfect.”

“I know you’re about as fine as I was after the Kanima incident.” Jackson hisses, “I know you’re not fine because the Stilinski I know would have loved being the center of attention at a party like this. The Stilinski I knew would be thrilled by the fact that Lydia Martin passed up a full ride to Harvard just to look for him. More than that though, I know that you look just like I did after I was the Kanima...Broken. Dead. Haunted.”

Thomas looks down. Right. Jackson had been the Kanima. He’d been controlled and manipulated so many different ways that, while Jackson may be an ass, he would never mock something so like his own experience. The Kanima incident felt like a whole different life time ago. It was hard for Thomas to believe he was the same scrawny, awkward sixteen year old boy that he’d been back then.

Then again, maybe he wasn’t.

Jackson had a good point, Stiles would have made sure the first thing he did when he remembered who he was would be to call Scott and ask if Lydia’d missed him. Thomas? Thomas ran from Scott, hid from Lydia. Thomas had learned his dad had married Melissa weeks after he’d come home.

Thomas wasn’t Stiles.

That was the problem here.

“I’m not him,” Thomas sighs, “Everyone want’s me to be him, but I’m not. I’m Thomas. I haven’t been Stiles in three years. Nobody understands.”

 

“I under…”

“You don’t, though.” Thomas shouts, frustrated, “You were forced to be the Kanima...Those things you did? They were Matt, not you! WICKED? WICKED took my memories, WICKED took my name, but I was still me! It was me! Okay? I was the one promised Chuck I’d get him out of there! I was the one who failed to keep that promise! I was the reason so many died! I created the Maze! I was the reason Ben was Banished! I am the reason Theresa died thinking I hated her! I was the one who...If it wasn’t for me… I wasn’t being controlled, Jackson, everything that I blame myself for...I did...It’s not like when I was the Nogitsune. I made the choices I made by myself, and now I have to live with them...myself. Me. Thomas.”

“Didn’t say it was anyone else, Stilinski,” Jackson says, walking back out to the party, “I only said you’re not fine.”

He’s right about that too. 

“Jackson.”

“Huh?”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Jackson turns like he’s going to keep walking then, but he hesitates, “If you ever feel ‘fine’ again, Stilinski... I can try not be a total asshole for a bit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jackson walks off and soon Thomas finds himself back outside in the company of Minho and Cora who provoke Gally’s inner asshole into challenging Thomas to a wrestling match.

A wrestling match that Thomas is winning. Until suddenly from the crowd he hears a familiar accent call out, “You bloody show ‘em, Tommy!” and he makes the mistake of looking up, only to be defeated by Gally, but not before seeing long blond hair and warm brown eyes he thought he would never see again.

“Newt?” Minho asks, his mouth gaping like a trout and clearly trying not to cry.  

**  
Thomas tries to  ignore the sinking feeling building inside of him...tries to bury the nagging thought of ' _I wished for this_ ' lingering in his mind.**


	11. Chapter Ten: Soundless and Deafening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho sighs, “Since when is this our life?”
> 
>  
> 
> “For me it was my best friend being bitten by a mentally unstable werewolf in the woods when I was fifteen. For you it was when you decided to be friends with me.”

 

_**Chapter Nine: Soundless and Deafening** _

 

> _"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art...It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give's value to survival." ~C.S.Lewis_
> 
>  

Newt feels...wrong. Thomas isn’t sure why, but it just feels like he’s being haunted and  Lydia is already gone by the time he thinks to ask if her banshee powers sensed anything funky and evil about his no-longer-dead british friend. However he doesn’t have too long to dwell on it, because Minho goes from joyously embracing Newt to dragging Thomas away to a secluded corner of New Homestead.

“I thought you said you killed him!?”  
  


Thomas sighs, “I did. I shot him in the head. I held his lifeless body in my arms, crying over his corpse.”

“Then how…”

“Djinn.”

“You think the Djinn brought him back for us? So, what then...Newt’s, like, a peace offering?”

“Maybe?” Thomas cringes, “I don’t know, Minho. I really don’t.” He’s not just talking about how Newt came back and Minho can tell.

Minho nods like he’s expecting this, and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t worry, Thomas, we’ll make sure Newt knows not to tell Gally and Fry, okay. If he even remembers being dead...”

‘Or if its even Newt.’ The unspoken notion hangs between them, like a noose waiting for one of them to dare speak it’s name out loud and hang themselves by it. The silence between them is like none before. It is both soundless and deafening.

“Let’s go rescue the guy I murdered from Frypan, Gally, and a group of were-creatures which, as far as we know, he knows nothing about.”

Minho sighs, “Since when is this our life?”

“For me it was my best friend being bitten by a mentally unstable werewolf in the woods when I was fifteen. For you it was when you decided to be friends with me.”

Minho sighs, “I hate this town.”

“Welcome to life in Beacon Hills.” Thomas replies dryly. “Though, to be fair...it beats the shuck out of anything we went through with W.I.C.K.E.D. or any part of Mexico I’ve been to.”

“When did you go to Mexico?”

“I was seventeen both times. The first time a Hunter turned Werejaguar had held Derek in an old church and turned him back into a sixteen year old temporarily. The second time, the same psycho took Scott and turned him into a berserker - remember, Isaac and I told you about them- and nearly killed us all.”

Minho arches an eyebrow as they walk out into the party again, “Was this before or after you were possessed by a demon?”

“Technically, it was a Nogitsune...you know a Japanese fox spirit that feeds off chaos and pain?”

“I did not know that.”

"And to answer your question, it was after."

* * *

Newt is just like Thomas remembers...only, you know, not a Crank...because Cranks weren’t real, they were just convinced they were Cranks by a bunch of wealthy sociopaths with far too much time and money on their hands. Also, Newt seems to remember everything about the Trials and the Scorch...everything but dying. Thomas is both relieved and not.

Relieved because it means that Thomas and Minho’s carefully protected secret was still just that...a secret. Yet not because he still didn’t know if Newt is, in fact, Newt. Though, to be honest, he’s starting to care less and less if he’s Newt or not the more time he spends with him, because either way the guilt of killing him had vanished as magically as Newt had appeared. Who the hell cared why or how it happened?

For the first time in months Thomas is finally okay. He’s not having nightmares. He’s fine and he means it.

* * *

Jackson doesn’t buy it for a second. Not the thing about Newt’s mysterious arrival in Beacon Hills, he could care less about that.

“It’s Beacon Hills after all. Weird impossible shit happening is about as common as the sky being blue.” He tells Thomas one day as they’re meeting over coffee. “Nowhere else in the world can you learn the sociopath who turned you into a Kanima and then helped re-turned you into a werewolf is actually you’re birth father the same day you learn you have a twin sister who spent seven years running naked through the preserve as a Coyote. By the way, I still can’t get over the fact you dated my twin sister, Stilinski.”

“Neither can I.” Thomas replies, “Though, to be fair, I didn’t know she was your twin sister at the time. Though, it makes sense that Peter Hale was your father. I should have seen that one coming.”

For some reason, between Scott and Isaac being his brothers and Minho obsessing over Newt being back had left Thomas in need of a new best friend. He never thought he’d have turned to Jackson and Liam (who Thomas is starting to believe are actually the same person split between two bodies) to fill that void.

Not that Minho’s avoiding him, quite the opposite...he’s suffocating him. Minho is suffocating Thomas and Newt is helping. They want to be with him all the time. The three of them. Sometimes it’s great. Sometimes it’s like the good old days in the Glade, just them three. Then Thomas remembers killing Newt and he feels like he’s forgetting how to breath.

It’s in those moments he calls Jackson and Liam and they meet at Beacon Hills Tea and Coffee and talk about whatever comes to mind.

Liam very rarely speaks in front of Jackson when they meet. Mostly he just sits quietly near Thomas and offers a silent comfort and the occasional growl whenever Jackson’s inner asshole rears it’s ugly head.

Thomas is oddly grateful for this. For Liam and Jackson who, when he was Stiles, he had seen as rivals and interlopers. Now that he was Thomas he saw the benefit of having them in his corner and he was grateful.

No. Jackson isn’t worried about Newt’s return  (though that may be due to the fact that he doesn't know the specifics of what happened). What Jackson cares about is how Thomas is coping with what what happened when he had been under W.I.C.K.E.D.’s thumb. Because if anyone knows about being under someone’s thumb? It’s Jackson “I was the Kanima” Whittemore.

 


	12. Chapter Eleven: Say What You Need to Say

 

> “ _I am not the way leave or left or couldn’t handle anything. I am not your fault_ ” - **Charlotte Eriksson**

Newt isn’t sure why he doesn’t say what he wants to say. Perhaps it’s because he’s finding it so much easier to follow Thomas’ lead and pretend the whole thing never happened.

Then again, maybe he just doesn’t want to make Thomas remember. Thomas, who has a family, and a life, and other friends he has returned to, all of which he has kindly shared with the Gladers. With Minho and Gally and Frypan...and now Newt himself. Even still, it is almost heartbreaking, to think that Thomas has chosen them, the Gladers over his own family. Maybe, in the long run, Newt doesn’t want to take away any more of Thomas’s happiness than he has already.

It was horrible enough to make Thomas kill him, but to make him remember? Newt can’t bring himself to do that. He can’t let Thomas forgive himself, because then he, too, would have to face the truth.

Thanks to him, one of his best friends became a murderer.

He slipped cautiously out of bed, disentangling from the mass of Glader-limbs with the utmost caution to keep the attached beings from waking up (Sharing a bed with two other guys tends to lead to awkward mornings of trying to remember which limbs belong to whom after all). making his way down the stairs and into the kitchen maybe he’d make some coffee before everyone else wakes up.

* * *

Thomas wakes to find himself wrapped into a cocoon of limbs and blankets and tries not to think about how much more comfortable sharing a bed with Minho and Newt was than sharing a bed with Malia ever had been or would be. He’s a flailing mess of limbs suddenly when he realizes only Minho’s limbs are there and not Newt’s.

“Newt!? NEWT!” Thomas flails, shaking Minho awake as he does.

“Wahap’nin?” Minho slurs in his half-sleeping state.

“Newt’s gone.”

“Clunk on a stick.”

“Exactly.”

They both jump out of bed with far more coordination than they’ve managed than when they’re actually making an effort before bolting to the door and bolting down the stairs.

“I made coffee...mind you, it’s probably literal klunk, but oh well.” Newt smiles at them and Thomas pulls Newt into his arms and the words are lost on their lips in soundless apology.

_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry._

_I know._

_I forgive you._

_There is nothing to forgive._

It may not be spoken, but for that moment it is understood...or perhaps that is just wishful thinking on Newt’s part. Even still, there is calm and comfort and Newt knows keeping his mouth shut is his best option.

**  
If not forever than for now.**


End file.
